Soldier
by Flailingkittylover
Summary: Grocery shopping is more difficult and irritating than Annie would like. Aruani kids. Family fluff.


"Come on now. Can't we talk this over?"

"_No." _A harsh bellow responds. "I told you once and now I'll tell you only one more time, _out."_

The broom the mustached store-keep holds sweeps away both the dirt on his front entry way and the family of four moving backward.

"Look, all we want is one toy." Armin attempts to reason. "It's not like we're asking to buy your store here."

"Even if you _did _offer, I'd still tell you no. _Out_!"

The wooden glass door slams with a small bell ringing after. Armin sighs and Annie shakes her head. "I told you, hardly any of these vendors sell to me." She whispers close to her husband's ear. "If you want something you should wait until you're alone."

"I'm not doing that." Armin refuses quickly. His seriousness is further cemented when he looks at her like she's ridiculous for even mentioning such a thing. "So stop telling me to."

Armin's knowing wife sighs. He's frustrated but she knows it's not aimed at her. Annie's geyser blue drift down to her near-four-year-old son who has his face glued to the large window of the store. The toy soldier he wants and has been begging for the entire trip along the market is so close but a glass wall separates the yearning boy and the waiting toy. When the eyes of his father's shift to stare pleadingly into hers, a painful rip slices down Annie's heart.

One of the hands not cradling the underside of the sling holding her four-month-old to Annie's chest reaches out for him, but Armin beats her to it, runs a consoling hand over their son's yellow threaded crown to ease him.

"The man will ease up eventually." Andrew's reassuring father tells him. "I guarantee it. Let's just carry on now. We still need things for dinner."

As the young family walks the cobblestoned street, the loud clamor of the market unnerves the secluded nature of Annie. She doesn't like how everyone bumps into the other or palpates food which they don't end up taking. Father kept her away from the cramped spaces of the city and from what are such tedious, time-consuming things—she'd rather hunt for food herself. Shopping is a pain and the scowls aimed toward her are easily ignorable, but the young mother isn't a fan of having to repeatedly keep her eldest close or swat lightly at his notoriously dirty hands when he tries to reach for a fruit he likes. It's needed, but irritating, and Annie is thankful her daughter doesn't fan her irritation but sleeps soundly in the sling across her chest.

"Well well, lookie-hic- what we got here."

A thick man wearing a ragged mining outfit staggers toward them. A half-full beer bottle is gripped in his hand and he belches so foully, Annie takes a step back, hoping the invisible cloud of disgusting smells doesn't float her way. Faded-bloodshot eyes stare into the former traitor. "You have some balls to walk around these streets like the rest of us."

"We're just making our way through." Armin responds in a pleasant, neutral tone. "It's a beautiful day to, wouldn't you say?"

"Traitors don't get to shop in our markets so openly." A tall spindly man who wears the same mining rags berates. His sneer is semi-toothless and displaying gums riddled with black decay. "They belong with the rest of the scum in the slums looking for crumbs in rat droppings."

_"You're an awful long way from home then_." Annie choses to think instead of say. Already there are glares burning holes into them and Annie doesn't dare stoke the fire when her daughter sleeps against her and son coils his arms around her leg, looks up at her with blue pools now made frozen by fear.

Annie fights through the motherly hurt knifing through her chest and whispers, "You're okay. Just ignore them."

Andrew keeps his eyes focused on her then holds her legs tighter as he looks back at the pair of men. "Momma, do they know you?" He questions.

Everyone here does. It shows in the scowls of vendors and civilians with some having the audacity to look at her son with pity, like he's been rendered with some kind of handicap. Ice-cold eyes built from hardness and tragedy move to the spectators, freezing them in place with a glare of her own and they quickly scatter like cockroaches exposed to light.

"We're moving along now." Armin says. He takes his wife's hand and Annie takes hold of Andrew's. "Curfew is nearing, so be mindful of the time."

"Oh, _now_ they're worried about us." The greasy man with gnarly gums responds. "That's rich."

"They're just doing the simple pleasantries our tax-payer dollars order them to do." The man's obese friend hiccups. He takes a swig of his drink, a little stream of alcohol spilling out on the side of his mouth. "They don't care about shit."

The men keep up their walk with the young family as they browse the street vendors. All they can do is walk and ignore the strange set of men until they go away, Armin voices to his wife with a brief glance. Annie's lips purse in response. Nothing would please her more than letting the curve of her foot splinter the two men's jaws or bruise their intestinal tract, but Armin is right - the image they hold in front of their son is more important than her physical reaction.

Annie stores a head of lettuce into the bag Armin keeps open for her when the fatter man sniffs through a loud blockage and spits it onto the floor. "You know, I always heard you were an icy bitch, but I didn't think you were this cold. Are you not even going to say hello?" The fat man waves his stubby, blackened hand at her. "Hey? Hellloooo? Tsk. I don't believe it. Didn't they teach you manners in Shit-berio? See, us island folk find it to be _polite_ when someone else says hello."

Her sharp tongue is able to be kept down more and only when it came to her beloved ones did holding an apathetic face become an issue for Annie. Her son, however, does not have her etiquette.

"I don't like him." Andrew says a little too loudly. "He's ugly and mean and I can smell him from here."

The plaque-stained teeth of the fat man shows with his growl and Annie has to fight back a smile, a little impressed in how such a young person is so astute at criticizing someone so rightly. Armin doesn't share Annie's humor, she sees, only closes his eyes for a brief second out of what she suspects is frustration.

"All the more reason for them not to matter." She says down to Andrew. "Now let's move along-. "

"_You_ don't matter, bitch." The fat man's friend snarls as he moves forward. "You've got some nerve showing _your_ back to _us_."

"Hang on now." Armin steps between Annie and the approaching thin miner. "He's just a kid. He doesn't know any better."

"I don't give a shit. He might not know better but_ you _do. "The agitated man growls, aiming his worn fingertip at Armin. "You and your asshole friends brought her bastard friends here and we have to sacrifice _our_ living space so they can live here. Worse yet, you _slept_ with the _enemy_. Those kids shouldn't even exist."

Armin is grateful Annie crouched in time to cover Andrew's ears and hold him into her unoccupied shoulder. Truly, the once honorary Marleyian doesn't take issue with these vexed men and jay-walkers agreeing that she and Armin should have never been together. Her issue is these men's presence brought forth a fierce, face-wrinkling frown which doesn't belong on a young child's face. The thumb she rubs against her son's small sideburns only minorly erases the tension she feels binding in his jaw.

The man walks up until his soot-caked nose nearly rubs the tip of Armin's pointed one. "You and your Scout friends have brought nothing but death and failure and now you've made the whole world start looking at us. Now your Titan buddy is in jail, the world is at our doorstep and you walk around here like you've done _nothing_. Well I'll tell you what you've done: you've _killed us_."

The look Armin stares into the man is one of genuine sympathy. "It saddens me to hear you feel that way. Truly, it does. What I can offer you is this: all we need to do is pay for the food and we'll be on our way. Neither of us are public spectacles anymore and you don't have to be bothered with my face again. Besides, there's a toddler and a baby here who have nothing to do with any of this."

The rotted teeth dissident spits a glob of testy spit on the leather of Armin's boot. "That sounds like your issue, not mine." He spits. "How about this instead: you leave the groceries for me and my friend here and you all deport yourselves outside the walls."

Armin manages to smile pleasantly and shakes his head. "I'd rather not do that. That would be very unfortunate for my family and my friends who are trying hard to protect everyone. I know you two are intelligent men and that you're tired after a long day of work. Sometimes it's hard to remember laws like stalking or public drinking have very heavy fine consequences. Depending on the severity of the stalking, it could result in jail time too."

"I ain't got shit to lose." The fat man hiccups and his spindly associate fervently nods with a sinister smile. "Fucking try me."

A long sigh escapes the young soldier. "I wouldn't be too sure about that. You always have something to lose, you just don't know it yet." Armin jabs a thumb toward a busy street. "There are soldiers at the end of that block who know I am perusing the food here. Any sign of a struggle and they'll come running and I'd hate for them to take you to the horrible dungeons they maintain. How their inmates haven't contracted measles or leprosy yet is beyond me. Honestly, they keep it so dirty!"

The confidence stretching high on the two men's lips spoils. Annie doesn't need to be looking at her husband to know that the art of manipulation has turned Armin's eyes frighteningly clear. "I know you won't make the wrong move and have them escort you to the dungeons. My wife heals, you see and that's the only reason why she escaped such a horrible place without infection or harm. You're tired citizens trying to relax after a long day. With everything else going on in the world, you don't deserve such a horrible fate, right?"

Hesitation has brought the holed shoes from the dissidents back three steps. A nasty nose clearing and another swig from the beer bottle is the last of what the two men do before turning their dirty backs, grousing beneath their breath. There is a brief pause before time was set back to play and the clamor of vendors to customers flooded the market again.

"You shouldn't give them so much credit." Annie quietly scolds so their fidgeting son can't hear. "Even for your little scare tactics."

"Everyone's scared and they have a good reason to be." Armin attests. He kneels on one knee and runs a hand over his son's head; the motion helps wipe away the frustration he sees festering in his copycat eyes. "I have to grant them that much. They don't like you being released but that doesn't mean you should be stowed away at home either."

Their youngest resting on Annie's chest whines, the sounds soon stretching into a series of tremoring hiccups. Annie isn't sure if her daughter's sudden discomfort is from the brisk wind or from the tension left over from the chilly altercation.

"Let's take them home. "Armin says before kissing her cheek. "I'll get everything sorted out here."

Before Annie can so much as part her lips to rebuke, Armin turns around and finds money in his pocket to pay the vendor.

* * *

After dinner, Armin leaves for a late shift. Their son plays on the fuzzy carpet while Annie sits nearby. She nurses her eager daughter and winces while so; she's sore from her infants' bites and decides on the spot the time to wean her onto a bottle is finally here. The momentum is mechanical of throwing a towel over her shoulder, few good pats to the middle of her back and a rewarding sound of a burp graces Annie's hearing rather than a waterfall of spit-up.

When the babbling infant kicks her legs up in the air as her onesie-covered back is placed down on a blanket, the teddy bear Annie hands her daughter provokes a gleeful squeal.

Andrew only stays quiet. He moves his toys across the carpet in simulation of running to the other, clacks the wood toys together angrily as if he's trying to start a fire with two stones slowly losing their grainy edges. Annie extends a hand and places her palm over the toys battling each other.

"Your father worked hard so you could have those toys." Annie points out sharply. "Don't damage them so quickly."

Annie's eldest child pouts. "These guys are the ugly meanies and I'm being mean back." He reasons with a voice of wobbly conviction. "They deserve it after making you and Poppa angry."

Andrew is gifted with his mother's icy, judgmental complex. She isn't...entirely happy about that.

A warm, caring hand puts her hands over her son's small ones. "Even then, it's still not worth it. Let it go, love."

The hard smacks of his toys evolve into a light clacking of wood. "Everyone's always so _mean _to you." He murmurs quietly. "And Poppa. They make faces I don't like too…" His hands fidget beneath hers. "Why do they do that?"

"They're mad at me for some things I did awhile back." Annie responds in a hushed, soothing voice. "They're not mad at you."

Her thumb from the hand holding the young boy's face strokes his cheek and his eyelids flutter. "But you said you were sorry, right?"

Her lips pull tightly to the right. _Not really, _Annie thinks. "In my own way I did." She side-steps.

Her boy gives her an innocent, quizzical look. "But if you said sorry...that means they're mean_ and _stupid."

The firm pad of Annie's finger pokes the tip of Andrew's nose. "Stop it." She firmly scolds. "You don't talk like that around me."

"But it's _true." _Her son grumbles, keeping his eyes away as he rubs his hands. "I thought saying sorry fixed stuff…"

Annie wishes her son's genuinely innocent remark was true. They wouldn't be exposed to hate-filled eyes or watched children being carted away from them if so.

"We can't stop how they feel about us. We can only carry on." Andrew gives his toys one more clacking slam before a gentle, motherly grip squeezes his small hand. "Let it go now, sweetheart." She instructs softly. "You're okay."

The small boy abides by his mother's wish though the hard downturn of his lips never wavers. Annie realizes then how sensitive she has become where a simple frown on her child's face calls forth a painful splitting in her chest.

Pink lips peck a nose which looks much cuter on him then her and Annie collects the small boy into her arms. Protectiveness and a frigidly critical eye are tunneling its way into her son, features if not nurtured right will turn him into the quick-to-punch enforcer Annie maintains, or worse. Armin's influence helps but worry sows deeply in her still.

The sound of Anya's high-pitched coos catches Annie's attention when Andrew pulls away. She holds a brown ear from her bear captive under her chewing gums. Eyes Annie gave the infant girl roll over and nearly shine upon spotting her mother looking over. _Tiny _hands pull the bear's spit-matted fur head over her little face, only to poke a curious eye from behind and dart away with a giggle when Annie raises an acknowledging smile to her daughter. She scoops Anya up as she squeals enthusiastically. This small thing is so careless of everything around her, so content in her bubble of happiness that she shares a toothless smile before burning her platinum blond head into the space between her mother's shoulder and neck.

Andrew only looks dejectedly at his toys with his legs sprawled under him, a face Annie isn't sure of passing over him. A warm palm takes the troubled boy by his cheek and guides his short-haired head into her other shoulder.

"You're my sweet little warrior, right?" Annie strokes his smooth hair. Her lips press and linger on the top of his head before leaving. "Don't worry your little head about these things. Let dad and I take care of it."

Andrew only keeps put for a second, staying silent. He then wraps his arms around his mother, holding tight enough for alarms as loud as raid sirens to blare in her head.

* * *

Armin walks in later than Annie would have liked. With a tired sigh, his work bag slips off his aching shoulder and he plops into his armchair. The fireplace going nearby accentuates the bags of fatigue under his eyes.

"We need to talk." Annie immediately makes clear from the sofa nearby.

A long, held in sigh is the response breathed out of her husband. "I figured so."

Annie's better half is tired after protecting her and ensuring their lifestyle so she doesn't waste time. She transfers over to where her husband sits and puts herself in his lap. A testy wheat-blond brow escalates, a mute question if she's trying to mess with him. Annie snorts and ducks her head into the space under his chin.

"I'm not mad at you, firstly." Annie points out. "It's nothing you did. It's…"

"I know." Armin breathes out sadly. The soft familiar palm which soothes so easily takes hold of Annie's shoulder and rubs up and down. "I saw the look on his face too."

"We'll lose him." Annie whispers fearfully. "If we don't do this right and do it quick, we'll lose him and he'll end up just like…"

The curt woman's notoriously blunt tongue holds back when Armin's hand stops moving. Through sins and lies, Eren still resides as a friend in Armin heart. The memory of his past deeds lives strongly in him and Eren's desire to save his friends in the past is something Annie wouldn't mind Andrew having. It's the violence that Armin told her he carried with him through the early years, how such an interesting person spun a web of grief and death when threat of survival came into play. Annie doesn't know her own children's capabilities and neither do they...and she won't be around to see what her children could be.

"I know what you mean." Armin mournfully acknowledges. "But we can't watch him forever and these things will happen. Let's just be glad things didn't escalate any further. Besides," Armin reaches around the large softness of the armrest of his chair for his bag. He rummages inside and pulls out something which pulls Annie's eyes wide.

Armin grins, shaking the brown packaged paper outline of the toy their son wanted in his hand. "I told you he'd ease up. He was gracious and I was able to stock more toys into my office for both the kid's birthdays! He just needed a little...convincing."

The eyebrow fall of an unamused wife takes over Annie's face. "What _kind_ of convincing?"

"Well...I may owe Jean a favor somewhere down the line." Armin pauses. "...and...maybe Connie too. They know how to pull off cursed ghosts _really well_."

Dainty fingers pinch the bridge of Annie's nose, her eyebrows bunching together. "So long as you didn't make it obvious it was you and he didn't see anything, that's fine...I guess."

Armin smiles brightly and pumps up an energetic thumbs up. "With that, I'm going to give it to him now. I'm sure it will boost his mood a bit."

A sudden thought pops into Annie's head. "Wait." A hand on Armin's hand stops him, spurring his eyes to stare at his wife in shock. "I have an idea."

* * *

After a couple of days on a night when Armin is knocked out on the floor, tired from work and playing with two unfairly energetic children, their persistent boy moves his train about the carpet, now acting like the two men are on the train tracks. She has to do better with herself, because Annie doesn't _necessarily _disagree such a fate is unwarranted on the scum of the streets, but a young child has no business thinking of these things. And much like her aim to be a better civilian, she needs to give credence to Armin's possibility of the fools being impoverished due to all the havoc the last eight years has brought to them.

"Andrew," She grabs the small boy's attention with a gentle voice. She taps the spot next to her and as her puzzled son crawls over, Annie sits on her knees. She gives her son an item wrapped in crinkly, brown paper tied with a ribbon. Eager hands tear it open, soon finding the wood-polished figure with a blue and white insignia which mark the bravest of soldiers these walls have come to know.

"Dad got it!" Andrew thrills excitedly though under Annie's finger to her lips and a soft hush, the boy's voice pipes down a margin. "How did he do it? That other mean guy said to never come back!"

Annie hushes her son again, this time a little more sternly. She shakes her head. "He didn't do anything. He brought your sister when she was awake and she helped him get it."

"...babies can go shopping?" He asks with a blown-away face and raise of small, yellow brows.

"Yes," Annie smiles. "And they're the hardest customer to please. She heard how much you wanted the soldier and gave the owner such a big stink, he gave her one for free because of all the trouble he caused us."

Large orbs of blue aren't sure whether he believes his mother or not, darts his sights around the room suspiciously because he's so confused. "But...how? She doesn't speak good."

"Doesn't speak _well." _Annie corrects his grammar quickly. Andrew makes a face and Annie sees him turn away and stick his tongue out. Her challenging eyebrow raise and the slow lifting of her chin gets the boy to quickly slurp his tongue past his lips. "When Anya wants to tell Dad and I something, she makes sure to let us know. You know that all too well by now."

The boy's timidly curls into himself, silently acknowledging how often his sister cries for attention or for what she wants. It isn't necessarily a lie and from Andrew's face clearing of suspicion, Annie is comfortable in believing he is buying it.

"We understand her like we understand you." She lightly tilts up her son's chin. "Like how we understand if something goes missing around here, most likely, you've accidently broken it then hid it."

A licorice red blush floods the boy's cheeks so quickly, he puts his new toy in front of his face to block the sight. He seems to relent and brings the toy back down, staring at the Survey Corp toy in amazement. Thankfully, the sharp mind Andrew inherited isn't fully active yet. "She did that and got this...for me?"

Annie caresses Andrew's small, plump cheek in acknowledgement. "She's your sister. Looking out for each other is what siblings do. She practically ordered your father to get it for you."

Twin ocean pairs become solemn, as if out of saddened guilt. "I wish I could understand what she's saying..."

"It's a trick only parents know for now. "Annie runs her knuckles along the side of Andrew's face. "She'll let you know soon enough."

_And then all bets are off. _Heavens forbid these children are as snarky and stubborn as her. Andrew embodies a beginning of sharing her darker viewpoints already and Annie does not want Anya to join in on their ship.

The young boy stares at his green cloaked toy. Andrew's face then scrunches, twitches about left to right, like he's trying to fight back against the watering of his eyes but is much too prideful to let his mother see. He isn't successful in the slightest as tiny streams of tears leak out from every face twitch.

Annie wants to collect her crying boy into her arms but the boy turns his back to her. He looks to his father who lays on the ground, his little sister lying on her back with her teddy bear in one doughy hand, peacefully snoozing the night away. Andrew scoots over to them and under Annie's watchful eye, he lies next to the two-foot long infant and so carefully wraps his small arm around her.

"Thanks." He whispers in a cracked voice. "Next time, tell Momma what toys you like and she can tell me what you say. I'll keep it safe for you too."

Annie's smile softens the skin over her cheekbones and corners of her eyes. She doesn't deserve such pure things but she soaks it all in anyway.

Annie strokes her son's silky hair when the long-lashed eye of her husband opens, looking up at her. He smiles brightly, congratulating her on her idea working. She would bow if she could though she settles for a triumphant side-tug of her lips and a lowered head.

Hate towards them will live on and Armin and her won't last forever, but they can help make sure the bond between their son and daughter will.


End file.
